Texting a Disconnected Phone
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: Sherlock may be gone, but John still has his phone number, if nothing else. Series of 100-300 word drabbles. All friendship.
1. Chapter 1

**Texting a Disconnected Phone**

* * *

**To: Sherlock Holmes**

**Subject: I miss you**

**- I miss you, Sherlock.**

* * *

John sits alone in the flat, haunted. Haunted by the memories of what he should have said and what he didn't, what he wants to say but can't. The time has passed for all of those thoughts, but they're all that John can think of.

It's too quiet in their... _his_ flat. There's no typing on a keyboard. There's no cell phone text alerts. There's no violin playing. There's not even a chair squeaking.

John looks towards the chair opposite him. Sherlock's chair. Sherlock is... _was_ very firm on who could sit in that chair. He almost acts... _acted_ like someone sitting in his chair would spread the stupid to him. John had always thought that was funny. Now John thinks it was the most normal thing ever and he wishes that he could see Sherlock in his chair, just one more time.

John refuses to think that he won't. He refuses, absolutely refuses, to think that Sherlock is gone. Because, if he said it, it would give the words a meaning, a positive finality, and John knows that he just can't handle that reality right now. So, he refuses to think that Sherlock is gone.

Although, John knows, if he actually believed that, he wouldn't miss Sherlock this much already.

* * *

**To: John Watson**

**Subject: (No subject)**

**- Failure to deliver message.**


	2. Chapter 2

**To: Sherlock Holmes**

**Subject: Grave**

**- Your tombstone is nice. But boring. Why is it so boring, Sherlock?**

* * *

John stares at Sherlock's tombstone, the rock cold beneath his fingers. It shouldn't be so cold, so close to July. John is beginning to think that the cold is just a by product of his own mind, though. No one else ever claims to be cold. Maybe it was just the cemetery.

_Sherlock Holmes_.

That's all the tombstone says. It's so boring. So dull. Mycroft, being the family, had picked it out. John didn't know why Mycroft had picked out such a stupid tombstone. Sherlock had always hated the boring stuff.

John sighs. The motion draws no cloud of condensation in the air, but he's still cold. So, then, it's all a product of his mind. Great.

He runs his fingers over Sherlock's stone again. It is the closest thing he can get to Sherlock now. He hates it. He hates Sherlock. He hates Sherlock for this, for putting him through his pain. He also loves Sherlock, and he doesn't know how he can love someone through all of this selfishness, but he had loved Sherlock like he was his own Brother, and some little part of John had died when Sherlock jumped.

God, he misses Sherlock so much. Standing next to a tombstone just doesn't cut it.

* * *

**To: John Watson**

**Subject: (No subject)**

**- Failure to deliver message.**


	3. Chapter 3

**To: Sherlock Holmes**

**Subject: Talking**

**- You know how you used to talk to people, namely me, when they weren't - there? I always thought it was stupid. **

**- It makes a lot more sense now.**

* * *

John finds himself muttering to himself, making mental notes out loud, grumbling on about how he needed to buy milk or how he hated the quiet.

He doesn't know who he's talking to, he just does it. It's almost a learned habit, John supposes, after eighteen months of thinking out loud to Sherlock. Even then, he didn't get a response eighty percent of the time, so he figures that it's not much different now.

One day, he actually caught himself talking to Sherlock. He had misplaced something and, in the disgust of the moment, had asked aloud, all intending to get an answer in response, _what have you done with it?_

He had realized his mistake, of course, seconds after he had said it. It took moments like those to make John realize that talking to yourself was a sign of loneliness. And John didn't really talk to himself as much as he was talking to a dead Sherlock, but the point was the same, wasn't it?

John's lonely. He knows that he's lonely and he's sick of it. He's determined to let the past go but every time that he even starts to think about forgetting Sherlock, he is assailed by this gut-wrenching feeling.

John's still lonely. John's still upset. John still misses Sherlock and John still talks to himself. John still wishes Sherlock hadn't done what he'd done, but he had, and John was the one who had to deal with it.

John secretly knows that he's not dealing with it.

* * *

**To: John Watson**

**Subject: (No subject)**

**- Failure to deliver message.**

* * *

**AN: I'm still playing around with format. Don't mind me. I have one more snippet backed up and then I'm onto writing some reviewer ideas. Keep them coming! The ideas. _And_ the reviews. Thanks!**


	4. Chapter 4

**To: Sherlock Holmes**

**Subject: Another year older**

**- My birthday was today. I'm sure you knew that. Mrs. Hudson, Greg, Harriet, - Molly, Sarah, and even Mycroft stopped by to pay - a visit. (Jeanette still won't speak to me.) **

**- It wasn't fun.**

**- I understand why you hated it when I wanted to celebrate for you.**

* * *

Birthdays were boring.

John shuts the door after Mrs. Hudson leaves, sighing heavily. He knew that they all gave each other pitiful looks when they thought he wasn't looking. But, after so long with Sherlock, John had gotten a little more perceptive, and he knew that they had been showering him with invisible pity. He hadn't said anything, but it had made him angry.

He runs his fingers through his hair before wandering back to his bedroom. He flips open his laptop, and, as usual, brings up the page for his blog. He has been doing this for the past month, even though there are no more cases to write up.

Ella thinks that he should continue his blog. John has opened his blog once, maybe more, every day for the past month, even though Sherlock isn't there to watch over his shoulder.

He stares at the blinking cursor, frowning. He wants to write something. He really does. But nothing seems important anymore.

His birthday. He could write about his birthday. That had been fun, hadn't it? It had been the idealization of fun, anyway. It would have been better if Sherlock had been there, too. But that was impossible.

John sighs again, agitated now. He slams his laptop shut, shoving away from the table.

He has to be truthful, with himself, at the very least. He hasn't felt like writing anything since the day Sherlock died. He knows he won't write anything again. He just... he won't. There is no point to his blog if there is no Sherlock.

Instead of writing his blog, he has taken up texting a disconnected number. Every time, he gets a failure message. And, every time, he just picks up his phone and texts that number again.

Sherlock's number.

* * *

**To: John Watson**

**Subject: (No subject)**

**- Failure to deliver message.**

* * *

**OH MY GOSH. I FORGOT JOHN'S BIRTHDAY. IT WAS YESTERDAY (July 7th). I kind of hate myself right now. :/ (Of course, no one really knows when John's birthday is; it's just been assumed, but I got with July 7th.) I've had this written for awhile. It fell into place at a good time (although I should have posted it yesterday .). I hope you enjoy. Your suggestions all start coming in next chapter!**

**Happy (belated) birthday, John! I love you! We love you! Reviews show love!**


	5. Chapter 5

**To: Sherlock Holmes**

**Subject: Candles**

**- I stop by Angelos occassionally. It's really not the same anymore. Eating alone used to be normal to me, but no more. I just  
****- want to see the damn candle, Sherlock. That one that Angelo always put out for us. I don't care about the meaning anymore!  
- I just want the candle back...**

* * *

John sighs as he leans back in the booth. It's deadly familiar- the atmosphere, the people, the food. It hasn't changed.

Except for one thing that has.

Sherlock's not here with him.

Angelos is still the same old restuarant and, thanks to Sherlock, John _loves_ it, but...

It's not the same. It's not the same, it's not the same, it's not the sameit'snotthesameit'snotthesame...

John buries his face in his hands, ignoring the plate on the table. It's been a _month_, for God's sake, almost two months. He doesn't understand how this can keep going on, this hurt. He doesn't know how _long_...

He scrubs at his eyes. He isn't crying- he's cried his share in the weeks that had followed Sherlock's...

He can't think the word.

He draws his face out of his hands, blinking hard. He's not okay, and he is _never_ going to be okay.

God. He's just realized that.

John stands and grabs his coat, laying money on the table. Angelo doesn't make him pay, but John does it, anyway. His eyes linger on the other seat, on the table where a candle used to sit...

Sherlock was like the flame on a candle. Vibrant and beautiful, but ever flickering, close to the edge. And the candle had gone out. Extinguished. Gone.

John slips out the front door into the rain.

* * *

**To: John Watson**

**Subject: (No subject)**

**- Failure to deliver message.**

* * *

**Schnitzel. This... this kinda... ugh. Man. I don't know. I've never been so... choked over any of these drabbles I've written. If you want to heighten it, go listen to _Prepared to Do Anything- Sherlock Series 2 Soundtrack_ while/before/after (I suggest during and after). It's just... oh, I'm just going to shut up. I'm still all messed up from Reichenbach like no other.**


	6. Chapter 6

**To: Sherlock Holmes**

**Subject: Deerstalker**

**- You know... a hat isn't a Sherlock Holmes hat anymore. It's just a deerstalker.**

* * *

John has moved out from 221B. John moved out awhile ago now. And, despite his intense plight to get away from all things that would remind him of his curly-haired detective, he has taken two things from the flat that aren't his.

One, the violin. Two, the hat.

The first was a stupid move. John definitely couldn't play the violin, that was for sure. That move was sentimentality. Sherlock would have been appalled.

The second was, in all rights, another stupid move. He could get more use out of it, naturally, but who walked around wearing a deerstalker hat? (Okay, there had been that one girl, in Town Hall, some reporter or something during the-)

It had become almost a tribute to Sherlock, really.

John glances up from his phone; he's twiddling it between his fingers as he waits for Harry to text him back. She's been planning to come visit for awhile- John can't avoid the confrontration any longer (it's not like he gets on worse with Harry now; he just can't stand the looks people _still_ give him).

His eyes land on the deerstalker hat. It's been sitting, tossed, on the desk that John doesn't use anymore (that blog problem again, he won't work on his blog). That hat... John looks back at his phone and sends Sherlock a quick text before he crosses the room and picks the hat up. It's the same old hat that he knows and remembers and it's the same hat that Sherlock always used to _hate_ and John had always thought that it was a bit funny...

He runs his fingers over the new material. Sherlock never wore it, at least, not past that time for photos in the clutches of Scotland Yard. He had tried to burn it once, actually- John had saved it and now he's glad that he did. The hat and the violin are the two things he has left of Sherlock.

The hat is a manifestation of Sherlock, of course, but it has changed over the months. (_Weeks_, his mind corrects him. He can't say _months_, not really; it hasn't been enough months.) It used to be a frenzy. _Hat man_ had turned thousands of normal deerstalkers into _Sherlock Holmes hats_. It... well, John had said that the press would turn, and turn it had.

He just... he isn't able to think _I told you so_. He doesn't even want to, now.

He's slightly more in control of himself now. Just the slightest bit, but it's better than before. He's getting better... slowly.

He thinks.

John curls his fingers around Sherlock's hat tightly, wondering what Sherlock would say to know that, even after a few short months, he's already lost his legacy.

* * *

**To: John Watson**

**Subject: (No subject)**

**- Failure to deliver message.**

* * *

**I have credit to give to Oasis Blackmore for the idea of Angelos (last chapter) and the hat. Thank you for your spectacular ideas!**

**I finished the _whole_ series of these oneshots for myself. I won't be uploading them all at once, obviously, but I will say that it gets darker, in contrast to this text!isode, gets lighter, and gets a plot towards the end.**

**No longer taking ideas! Thanks for all of the suggestions!**

******Do I need to remind you to review? Nah... just type something in that box down there. xD **


	7. Chapter 7

**To: Sherlock Holmes**

**Subject: It's too normal now**

**- It's too normal with you gone.**

* * *

John wanders around his old flat, his old military accommodation that he can no longer afford, without much purpose now. Life is boring.

There are no cases.

There are no deductions.

There are no clients.

There is no violin music.

There are no experiments.

There are no body parts in the fridge.

There is no smiley face on the wall.

There is nothing.

John wonders how normal people do it. Normal people in their normal worlds... because being in Sherlock's world for so long had made him into a sort of not-normal person, too.

There is no Sherlock.

* * *

**To: John Watson**

**Subject: (No subject)**

**- Failure to deliver message.**

* * *

**There was a bit of non-response from viewers so I got lazy. I get lazy. Or unmotivated. When I don't think people are there. xD Anyhoo! :D Short and depressing and to the point. To the people who suggested any of the ideas above, thank you for the idea!**

**Reviews are motivation... as we know. :P**


	8. Chapter 8

**To: Sherlock Holmes**

**Subject: You!**

**- Sherlock! I saw you! You were walking down the street and by the time that I realized, you'd vanished around the corner! I KNOW it was you! It  
- had to be! Sherlock, please, come back, please. I won't be mad. I promise. Please. Don't do this to me any longer. Come back. We can go back to  
- 221B. I won't make you buy the milk. I'll let you do experiments, whatever they are. Just... just... come ba**

* * *

John was prepared to swear on his life that it was Sherlock he had seen in the crowd. No one else matched Sherlock's profile. Tall, lanky, jet-black, curly hair, and those _eyes_... He couldn't disguise those eyes, not from John, not from someone who was _so _used to seeing them. The initial moment had shocked John so harshly that he hadn't realized, hadn't processed... and, in the few moments that it had taken him to snap back to reality, it was too late.

He had whipped out his phone to send a furious text to presumed dead friend. He had gone as far as to beg, only to realize, so many words later, that it was impossible. Sherlock was dead... Sherlock was definitely dead. And John was seeing things.

He didn't finish his text.

John managed to find his way back to his flat before he totally broke down. He is still crying, some silent broken tears. Those tears, they make him think that he is spiraling into something terribly dark, some sort of insanity that he will never be able to get away from.

It's a terribly scary, and possibly real, thought.

He sends his (unfinished) text anyway.

* * *

**To: John Watson**

**Subject: (No subject)**

**- FAilure to deliver message.**

* * *

**DrEvilsketch prompted me for 'I think I saw you in a crowd'. Someone else may have prompted it, too, so forgive me if I don't include your name because I just scanned over the reviews quickly. xD So, thank you for your suggestion. Here it is, in an odd way. Reviews are good, lovelies.**

**P.S. Notice anything different in this chapter? Let's see if you find it. ;D**


	9. Chapter 9

**To: Sherlock Holmes**

**Subject: ...**

**- There was a weird typo in the last message, Sherlock. I guess even automated messages get screwed up.**

* * *

When John first notices the typo in the last return text, his heart jumps. And then he hates himself even more for thinking that there's something in it. It's just a typo.

Typos hurt.

* * *

**To: John Watson**

**Subject: (No subject)**

** - Failure to deliver message.**

* * *

**So short and remarkably pointless. But, you know something... I feel like this is one of the ones that hurt the most. :/**


	10. Chapter 10

**To: Sherlock Holmes**

**Subject: What's the real name for the fear of heights?**

**- I don't like heights much anymore. Not that I frequented the ferris wheel anything in particular like that. It's just a bit... unsettling now. Not to  
- mention that I don't go to Barts anymore. It's not like I have a reason. It's not like I'll have have a reason now. Maybe that's okay. Probably not  
- too good to hang around hospitals so much, anyway.**

* * *

John unconsciously (or consciously) avoids St. Bartholomews Hospital now. Without Sherlock, he has no reason to go to the morgue. Not that he had particularly enjoyed that bit, but it had come with the part of having a death-obsessed detective living in his flat. Analyzing dead bodies came with the territory of being a death-obsessed detective's assistant.

Now, he doesn't have the death-obsessed detective and he doesn't have a reason to go to the hospital. Which is good, because he doesn't even want to _look_ at it. He knows that he's unearthed a fear that is totally unrational, because no matter how many times John passes by the hospital, he won't delete the picture of Sherlock laid out on the pavement anymore. He knows that that mental picture is enough to keep him away. So, he stays away.

He has also unearthed a fear of heights. He'd been out with a girl (hadn't gone well; dating was weird when he knew Sherlock wasn't going to be there to mess it up), on the rooftop of her flat, watching the stars. She was a stargazer. He liked stars. He didn't know how it could go wrong.

Until it _did_, because he took the one stupid glance over the edge, and everything that Sherlock had done had come rushing back until John felt like _he_ was the one who was falling.

When Moriarty had given Sherlock a fall, he had given John one, too.

* * *

**To: John Watson**

**Subject: (No subject)**

**- Failure to deliver message.**

* * *

**I really wish that Moftiss would illustrate how John copes. However, I don't think they will. Sadly. Because I'd really love to see it. Maybe that's just me. XD**


	11. Chapter 11

**To: Sherlock Holmes**

**Subject: Unbelievable**

**- I met a woman. She's fantastic. And unbelievably patient. Her name's Mary.**

**- Sherlock, I think I'm in love (real love) for the first time since I met you.**

* * *

It's been several months since John sent his last text, to Sherlock, that was. He has been busy. He's been... living a normal, everyday life. It was awkward at first. Now it's almost... he's almost back to normal.

Almost. Because he will never, ever be normal again, but that's okay.

He met her, Mary, at, of all places, Angelos. How stupid and ironic and maybe just a bit... coincidental. Sherlock probably would have rolled his eyes at the sheer placidity of it.

As true as his text to Sherlock when John realized that he was falling in love, Mary was a fantastic, patient, loving person. She didn't push John. She didn't even scratch the surface of the bad memories, just let John figure out his triggers and then helped him from there. It was... nice. Nice to not have someone pushing at him. Or looking at him with _that_ look.

He is so... pathetically... smitten with her. He presents her with flowers on their three-month anniversary, and she is the first person to make him blush in _ages_. It's a strange feeling. That little feeling that he's getting just a bit better. That he's recovering a little bit from Sherlock's death.

Just a little bit.

* * *

**To: John Watson**

**Subject: (No subject)**

** - Failure to deliver message.**

* * *

**Thus begins a plot. It's pretty obvious what the plot is here. xD The upcoming texts will be (mildly) interrelated. Plus, this story is reaching it's ending. Well, soon, soon. Just wait and see. ;D**

**Reviews are good, thank you!**


	12. Chapter 12

**To: Sherlock Holmes**

**Subject: Distractions**

**- Good distractions are great. I think I'm finally happy again.**

**- But I still miss you. I always will.**

* * *

John doesn't forget to text Sherlock. He just chooses not to. He knows that texting someone who's dead isn't going to help him. He turns to Mary for the distractions instead.

Months go by.

John gets better.

John doesn't forget about Sherlock. He never will forget and he will never stop believing. Sherlock is always on his mind, and he always will have a special place in his heart.

* * *

**To: John Watson**

**Subject: (No subject)**

** - Failure to deliver message.**

* * *

**(Even though we all know that a non-coping John is hug-worthy, we all know that the chance that he copes [after some time] is high.)**


	13. Chapter 13

**To: Sherlock Holmes**

**Subject: (No subject)**

**- I'm getting married!**

* * *

John sends out the frantic text when he drops into the cab, punching the letters with shaking fingers. By all rights, he probably should have told Sherlock that he was planning on proposing. But, Sherlock wouldn't read the texts and he was sure Sherlock was watching over him, anyway. So, now that Mary had said yes...

Oh, God, he was getting married! He... He was getting married. After months of what had become the darkest part in his life, he was getting married.

Miracles did happen.

John glances up to the scenery as London flies by outside the window.

_You're happy for me, right, Sherlock? I know you hate all of this stuff, but you're happy now, right? Just smile down upon me on my wedding day, Sherlock, that's all I really ask._

* * *

**To: John Watson**

**Subject: (No subject)**

**- Failure to deliver message.**


	14. Chapter 14

**To: Sherlock Holmes**

**Subject: Best man **

**- Considering that it should have been you, it's not an easy decision. But I think I'm going to ask Stamford. Maybe I should have  
- asked Greg, but we've never gotten on well since that day so many months ago. We talk. But it's not the same. And Stamford was  
- the person who introduced you to me, so I think it's as fitting as it can get, given the circumstances.**

* * *

John asks Stamford to be his best man. John knows what he's thinking- that John would have picked Sherlock if he could have. Not that Sherlock would have accepted, perhaps, but... he would have talked him into it somehow. But, Sherlock isn't here, and so, John asks Stamford. Stamford accepts. John is infinitely grateful.

He loses himself in time, in life, and in planning. Mary and he plan to get married before the end of next year. That gives them about... a year and a half until December next year. It surprised John, when they set the date, that it had been so long since Sherlock's death. Almost a year? Had it been? Really? He realizes that he had really stopped texting Sherlock after he had met Mary.

It's a harsh reality to realize he's been a year without his best friend.

Mary questions what he's up to when he pauses outside of her flat, looking towards the clouds above. He just shakes his head, wraps his arm around her, smiles, and heads inside with her.

Life is the allusion of good during these days.

* * *

**To: John Watson**

**Subject: (No subject)**

**- Failure to deliver message.**


	15. Chapter 15

**To: Sherlock Holmes**

**Subject: One year later**

**- I don't need to explain. **

**- I still believe in you. I still miss you.**

* * *

John visits Sherlock's grave on June fifteenth. He doesn't have anything to say. He doesn't need to say anything.

He stares at the black, shiny stone. He doesn't let it get dirty or dull. He might be the only one who cleans it. Maybe Mycroft or Greg does, occasionally. Sometimes, he notices that the tombstone is shinier than when he left it, or there's no mud on it after it rains. It always stays glittering and gleaming. John's glad that it does. Whoever is watching over it, at least he is not the only one who still believes in Sherlock.

In sixteen months, he will be married. Mr. and Mrs. John Watson, living in London. He can put those old _gay_ rumours to bed. He laughs to himself at the poor choice of wording.

He touches Sherlock's tombstone lightly before he turns away, wandering out from the graveyard once again.

* * *

**To: John Watson**

**Subject: (No subject)**

**- Failure to deliver message.**


	16. Chapter 16

**To: Sherlock Holmes**

**Subject: Pushed it back**

**- We've pushed the wedding back to June fifteenth. You know the date. Mary and I decided to do it then. A new beginning sort of thing. Actually, I doubt you understand. **

**- Nonetheless, the idea of it doesn't hurt. **

**- I wonder if this text will still bounce back. You'd think someone else would have this number by now.**

* * *

Three years to the day after Sherlock had jumped off the building of St. Barts, John would be getting married. It's only months away now. He hasn't texted Sherlock for nearly two years now. He feels a little bad about it, but, at the same time, he doesn't mind it. He doubts that Sherlock had wanted him to text him after he was dead, anyway. It had been a coping mechanism.

He has learned to deal with Sherlock's death without texting him. He doesn't need to share every detail with a dead man. He has his own friends back again, albeit if their relationships will never be quite the same again. It's alright, though, John knows, because his friends have stuck with him for the worst of it already. They aren't going anywhere.

John still misses Sherlock. But's it's fine. It's all fine.

* * *

**To: John Watson**

**Subject: (No subject)**

**- Failure to deliver message.**

* * *

**AN: Lots of time has passed. But, like the chapter says, texting was just a coping mechanism, and that mechanism is barely needed now. One more chapter, folks.**

**On a side note, since Moffat teased the Three Words, and one is 'Wedding'... JOHN'S GETTING MARRIED. Perhaps. Because we could all be interpreting it wrong. But I'm equal parts happy and equal parts annoyed. I never liked Mary [from the movies], and then I read ****_A Study in Scarlet_**** and grew a little fond of her because Watson was so adorable and smitten. So, if they get a good actress for her [if this really happens], and she's not a total... non-lady... I might be quite happy. I would love to see Sherlock's reaction to John's wedding. Anyway. I'mma shut up. I'm too excited. xD**


	17. Chapter 17

**To: Sherlock Holmes**

**Subject: Nerves!**

**- It's not really fair that I'm complaining about how nervous I am to myself. By all RIGHTS, you should be here. But. I'm not worrying  
- about that. I'm worrying about how in the world I'm going to manage this. Jeez, oh, there goes Stamford. I've talked him out of the  
- room. Oh, you'd hate me right now.**

John's by far passed every stage of nerves that he has ever experienced. All the nervous times he has had in war, all the nervous time he had spent with Sherlock... They don't add up to the _nerves_ of this moment. Because in exactly ten- no, _nine_ minutes, he is going to walk down the aisle and get married. Of course, that's a bit dramatic... Mary's walking down the aisle... not him... but...

It's all for Mary.

That calms him down just enough to know that he can do this.

Sherlock's watching over him, after all.

**To: John Watson**

**Subject: (No subject)**

**- Of course I'm watching over you. You're my only friend, after all.**

**- SH**

John stares at the return message on his phone, a sense of horror and shock spiking through him. He whirls around, taking off across the room before he wrenches the door open.

"John?"

He ignores Stamford and takes off down the church stairs. He's halfway to the door before he realizes that he's forgotten his cane in his room. He stumbles on the landing but catches himself on the banister, not pausing as he spins himself around for the front doors. He also realizes, a bit late, that it probably looks like he's running away from his own wedding.

He goes right out the front doors, breathing heavily as he comes to a solid stop on the front steps. His eyes dart around quickly and he's looking, looking, looking...

"Where's the fire, John?" elicits a silky baritone voice from behind him. John recognizes that voice. He turns slowly, almost unwilling to hope even now.

Sherlock stands behind him, a look of confusion on his face but the amusement alight in his eyes. He holds out a hand, which is holding John's tie that he is to wear today. "I think you might need this, by the way. A suit never looks good without one, especially for such silly things as this," he states as he waves his hand towards the church.

John just stares.

"You said you wanted me to be your best man, didn't you?" Sherlock says, after a moment. "Well, come on, John! You're going to be late to your wedding!"

Without a word, John lets Sherlock drag him back into the church. (He is used to being pushed around by the man, after all.)

* * *

Sherlock smiles to himself as he walks back into the church with John.

The doctor? Currently in shock. Good. If Sherlock is to be this best man, he prefers to not have a bleeding nose or a black eye.

All in all, he is glad to be back.

(He was really getting tired of typing _Failure to deliver message_ over and over again, after all.)

* * *

**There you guys go! ****_Texting a Disconnected Phone_**** has reached its end! For all you guys who asked, ****_Is Sherlock coming back?_****, well, I didn't answer you for the exact reason of THIS CHAPTER! :D For those people who noticed the typo in one of the previous chapters and said ****_It's Sherlock! He's been typing it!_****, my dear Sherlockians, you were correct. For those who wanted Sherlock at his wedding, you've got it! ;D And I really wish this would be how Sherlock's return happens... One of Moffat's words ****_was_**** "Wedding"... but, you know, no matter how Sherlock returns, no matter how John responds...**

**I'll just be overjoyed when Series Three airs!**

**Thanks for following the story, you guys! Hopefully you guys liked it!**


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